


Unworthy

by wifidelis



Series: Now [2]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Angst, But Is Mildly Helpful, Drunken Pining, Husk Thinks Bad Things, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22235845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wifidelis/pseuds/wifidelis
Summary: Husker didn’t want to see that Alastor was fond of him. Husker didn’t want to see that Alastor quietly settled into a chair in the corner to make sure Husk didn’t choke on his vomit in his sleep, submitting himself to an evening of quiet observation and boredom. Boredom to keep him safe. Because Al cared.Even drunk, Husker saw that. Knew that.Husker didn’t want to know that.Husker didn’t want to consider that.
Relationships: Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: Now [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600579
Comments: 30
Kudos: 221





	Unworthy

**Author's Note:**

> HAHA guess who didn't proof read again! ME!
> 
> i get excited and just wanna post leave me alone anyway here's that husk/al falling in love bullshit have fun

_ “I lost the ability to love years ago.” _

It was because of a broken promise.

_ “Eddie, we’re… we’re gonna go home soon, right? Think… think our parents’ll be proud of us?” _

_ The night was loud. Eddie pushed his helmet off his eyes, turning to face Nicky. Nicky’s face, camouflaged by green and brown from whatever they had smeared across their faces from the jungle floor, was further darkened by the shadows under earnest brown eyes. The right lens of his glasses was cracked. Peach fuzz sprouted from his chin where they hadn’t shaved lately, with Eddie sporting an admirable attempt at a beard himself. Their camp was quiet, suffocated under the roars and cries of the jungle night. Trees served as their only barrier of defense aside from the last crate of grenades and the last machine guns they could spare. _

_ “That’s where we’re headed,” Eddie said flatly, pulling his helmet back over his eyes. Do not give Nicky false hope. He’d mastered this dance of deceit and assurance from the moment they’d left Parris Island.  _

_ “But-” _

_ “Nicky, we are trying. Trying is the only fucking thing we can do anymore.” _

_ Nicky went quiet. Eddie groaned and sat up, pushing helmet off and running fingers through shaggy prematurely peppered black hair. Warm honey eyes swept over the camp. Donowitz and Underwood were standing watch. Tucker was flipping through the channels of the radio, one headphone pressed against an attentive ear. Queens was passed the fuck out a few feet from him, twitching in his sleep and muttering about the trees having eyes. _

_ Eddie grabbed a wad of gauze and stuffed it in Queens’ mouth. Nicky didn’t need anymore paranoia in his life, and Eddie didn’t need to listen to anymore of it. Queens gagged and snorted, but stayed asleep. Eddie was envious of that goddamn ability. He couldn’t remember sleeping for more than 3 hours in the last year. _

_ “Eddie?” _ __  
  


_ “What, Nicky?” _

_ Nicky moved closer to him, a thin hand clamped around his wrist. Eddie turned and raised an eyebrow expectantly, scowling as usual. _

_ “You promised we’d go home.” _

_ Eddie wanted to beat his brains in. “Yeah, I promised we’d  _ try  _ to go home. And I’m fucking trying Nicky. I’m a corpsman, not a platoon commander. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” _

_ Nicky’s grip loosened around his wrist, but didn’t move entirely. Eddie could scarcely see his face anymore because the moon was suffocating his sight and snuffing out anything that wasn’t the outline of a still body. He felt Nicky’s forehead hit his shoulder. Out of reflex, Eddie patted his equally shaggy blonde head. Just like when they were kids. _

_ Kids. Sheesh. _

_ “Hey, Husker? Caught something.” _

_ Eddie gently pushed Nicky off when Tucker called him over. The soft thump of combat boots on the leafy floor sent his heart racing because yeah they were his steps, but what if. What if they were the steps of the Vietcong right behind him- _

_ “What’s kickin’, Tuck?” _

_ Tucker passed the headphones to Eddie, adjusting the frequency and volume. Eddie knelt beside the operator and yawned, listening through static behind a pop and a flurry of voices assaulted his ears. Eventually Tucker got the frequency narrowed down, and real voices came through. _

“Base to H-089. Lift arriving 0600. Coordinates…”

_ Tucker grabbed the other headphone and frantically started taking notes. Eddie dropped it and kicked Queens awake, the soldier letting out a startled yowl. Donowitz and Underwood peaked over their shoulders at the commotion as Tucker turned off the radio. _

_ “Husker, I’ve got the location.” _

_ “Then let’s get moving,” Eddie nodded. “Better than waiting around to get gutted. Tuck, no fields around here?” _

_ “Not until we get closer to the lift. Smooth sailing until then.” _

_ Eddie grabbed his pack and the medi they had left. Donowitz and Underwood collected what weapons they had left, handing out rifles and grenades to whoever they deemed appropriate. Nicky flinched when handed a rifle, looking at Eddie with eyes that shone with tears that refused to fall. _

_ “Take it. Might need it.” _

_ Nicky’s shaking hands closed around it. Donowitz patted Nicky’s back with a small smile. Queens staggered to his feet, grumbling about Eddie wasting their medical supplies when he spat out a damp wad of gauze. Eddie rolled his eyes. He kept his mouth shut. Keeping them moving, happy, trusting him was important. Getting them home was important. Because _

“you have to,” Franklin, brave and honest brilliant Franklin, their commander and leader and friend, had held his hand and made Husker promise as Husker tried fruitlessly at ripping a slug out from deep deep deep down in the mess of meat and skin and fragmented bone along Franklin’s spine and Eddie would never tell but when Franklin died of shock Husker had screamed and cried and lost his mind in the jungle that night when Nicky and Underwood had hauled him off and let Eddie curl up into a ball and rock and rock and rock to the jungle beat with tears that wouldn’t spill in his warm now cold eyes

_ it was the only thing left to do here. They did what they were sent here for. It was time to go home. _

_ The trek was quiet except for that jungle groove. It always was. They knew not to talk. Talking attracted the trees’ eyes and ears. Walk walk walk hike hike hike. Eddie followed close behind Donowitz. Nicky was at his side, because where the hell else would Nicky be? Tucker was behind them, the radio buzzing faintly. Just in case. Always just in case. Eddie was afraid of change. Change in location of lift, of death of another brother, of injuries he couldn’t heal- _

_ Nicky took his hand. Eddie held it tightly. _

_ Afraid of losing Nicky, because Nicky was his home in this mess. The brat he used to play basketball with in the driveway, the crybaby Eddie’d fight playground bullies for, the smartass that still somehow conned Eddie into doing his homework, the idiot Eddie’d never say no to going out for a drink with- _

_ Nicky was it. Nicky was all he had here. _

_ He glanced up. Sun rising slowly. Glanced over. At Nicky. Nicky noticed. Smiled. Head turned away. _

_ Eddie didn’t feel like Eddie anymore. Not right now. When Donowitz asked if Eddie was okay, Queens just said he was stuck in autopilot again. Because, yeah. Eddie was. When it came to brass tacks, he had to be. _

_ Because it was 0500 and Franklin told him to. _

_ Nicky dropped his hand. He didn’t know why until Tucker jabbed him into the slightly too boney ribs and guided him back down to reality. _

_ “This is the spot. We waiting, Husker?” _

_ Eddie blinked. “Check the perimeter.” _

_ “Already did, chief. You’ve got us trained,” Underwood laughed, scratching his ass. Eddie nodded and sat down. They all sat down. All six pairs of eyes were on the sky. No one dared talked. _

_ Nicky was shaking. Eddie was like a pillar because Franklin told him to. _

_ … _

_ 0546. _

_ Close. _

_ The trees started shouting. _

_ Eddie shoved Nicky behind him as Donowitz and Underwood opened fire. His machine gun slammed into his shoulder in time with his heart in his chest because  _ god fucking DAMMIT  _ Eddie was tired of this and Nicky was so so so so close to his promise being fulfilled. Eddie’s eyes scanned the jungle for the flash of fire, swiveling and aiming and delighting as a choked gargle of a scream filled the air as he ripped into someone’s windpipe with a slug that killed Franklin. Scream. Choke. Scream. Rounds upon rounds and then- _

_ “HUSK-” _

_ Eddie saw Underwood go down out of the corner of his eye. Eddie threw the gun down and slid over the canopy floor, ripping to medikit open with a knife that went right through Underwood’s stained shirt. Eddie threw his leg under Underwood’s  _ Donovan’s  _ back to prop him up because shock was a killer and plunged in with the tweezers, cries of pain falling on numb ears, and feeling feeling feeling for that bullet before ripping it out but when he threw it aside he finally saw where the hole was. _

_ Heart. _

_ Underwood was dead. _

_ It was Queens’ screams he was hearing. _

_ Fuck fuck fuck _

_ Eddie whirled, trying to work, the same process on repeat but he was going numb because _

_ Because Donowitz hit the ground. Then Tucker. _

_ Eddie grabbed Tucker’s gun and started firing. _

_ … _

_ Autopilot. Autopilot until the forest was quiet. _

_ … _

_ And it was. Eddie dropped the gun. His jacket had slipped down to his elbows, dog tags clinging to his heart like they were glued in like a lifeline. He looked around, reaching for the medkit when _

_ “They’re all dead, Eddie.” _

_ Eddie looked at Nicky, who had fallen to his knees. He was looking down. Down at the ground. Until he looked at Eddie, who saw Nicky was crying. _

_ The tears were falling freely, but Nicky’s voice wasn’t wavering. _

_ Something grabbed hold of Eddie’s bones. This was bad. Something was somehow more bad in Nicky than in the bodies of his brothers surrounding them and the bodies of the Vietnamese somewhere in the forest who all had families and kids and wives and husbands. He felt locked in place when Nicky locked eyes with him, and Eddie saw no light. No light, just black. _

_ … That wasn’t Nicky. _

_ That was Nicky! _

_ Nicky looked at his watch. _

_ “It’s 0610, Eddie.” _

_ Eddie shook his head. “They just saw the fighting, they’ll be back-” _

_ “You said we we’re going home!” _

_ Voice cracking. Eddie tried to reach out, blood caked hands sending Nicky scrambling away from him. Eddie didn’t know what he looked like. Probably crazed. He always looked crazed when he lost a brother. He’d just lost four. He was in psychosis as far as scales went. But he felt numb. Eddie tried to wipe his hands off on his shirt, but Nicky just laughed. Hysterically. Like a kid in disbelief that Santa wasn’t real. Fat tears cut through the grime and blood on his cheeks. Nicky threw his glasses to the ground between them. Eddie tried to hand them back to him, but Nicky snarled. _

_ “I can’t look at you right now.” _

_ “Nicky-” _

_ “You promised we were going home, Eddie.” _

_ “I promised we’d try-!” _

_ “You promised…” Nicky shook his head, eyes turning up to the empty sky. “... Think they went to Heaven, Eddie? I think so.” _

_ Eddie was rooted to the ground, like the trees. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I think so, Nick.” _

_ Nicky hugged the gun to his chest. “Think I will?” _

_ “N-nicky, you can’t talk like that-” _

_ “Am I going to Heaven, Eddie?” _

_ Eddie was crying now. “Why would you not be, Nicky?” _

_ Nicky closed his eyes. “... You don’t even believe in Heaven.” _

_ “Nicky, I-i promise, I will get us home some fucking way, I promise-” _

_ “There’s no hope for us, man. Don’t you get it?” Nicky laughed. Hysterical. Senile. “The jungle eats you up and spits you out for the trees to win. They get stronger when we join their shitty fucking communist dirt.” _

_ “Ni-” _

_ “I’m not going home, Eddie.” _

_ No. Nonononononono- _

_ “Nicky, PLEASE-” _

_ “Goodnight, Eddie.” _

_ “NICKY-!” _

_ The gun was in his mouth and fired before Eddie could even lunge. Nicky’s brain matter painted the jungle canopy a brilliant red before his body slumped backwards, falling falling falling slowly still as time itself right onto the minefield. Eddie’s entire world erupted in chaos as his mind was consumed with the fact that Nicky was  _ gone  _ and he was  _ alone  _ and his skin was burning but he didn’t  _ care  _ and his heart was exploding into bits with the jungle. He found solace as the shitty ground went up in flames with his mind because Eddie wasn’t thinking, wasn’t processing when the explosions finally stopped and he was still alive, still unscathed and it just didn’t seem fucking fair. He laid on the earth covered in burns and new scars over his heart that would kill him. _

_ It was like being kicked in the balls when the helicopter finally came. _

Some fucking promise he made. But Eddie died in ‘nam with Nicky. With Franklin. With Donowitz, Underwood, Queens, Tucker-

They just left him just a Husk.

So why why why why did Husk get this feeling of protectiveness, of needing to save and shield, when he looked at this permanently smiling jackass who had very obviously committed far worse crimes than whatever the fuck Husk did to get to Hell? Why did Husk throw himself in front of blows that the fucker would simply redirect or bat off when they broke Husker’s bones and will to live? Why did he mix him drinks free of charge? Why did Husk play poker and blackjack and war with him willingly? Why did Husker entertain his deadly games of show and tell? Why…

Just why…?

He fucking knew why.

He just didn’t understand why.

Why? Because everything died in Vietnam. His mental capacity to feel anything unless it was the sick, liver rotting sting of alcohol chewing through his system. The ability to connect with anything on this godforsaken earth. The ability to have control of his temper, when he slept, what he felt-

What he felt.

Hah.

Husk swirled his glass, watching the melted ice cubes clink like bells against the side of the glass. A stool down was the violently scarlet asshole in question, yammering on about something Husker had tuned out thirty minutes ago. Sometimes if he was drunk enough (maybe like now), Husk thought he could see what Al used to look like as a human.

Lanky. Auburn-brownish hair. Smile only slightly smaller and less forced. Less fanged. Brown eyes.

Brown eyes.

_ Nicky. _

Fuck.

Husk grabbed the bottle between them and went to chug it when it suddenly vanished between his claws. One  _ tut-tut  _ from Alastor sent him growling until the Radio Demon placed on elbow on the bartop, resting his head in his hand while sipping from a glass of whiskey. Husker snarled when the bottle reappeared floating in midair, refilling Alastor’s glass in the hands of one of his weirdass voodoo shadow demons.

“How’zat fair?” Husk slurred. The mixture of annoyance and displeasure written across Alastor’s face was hidden to the naked eye unless one spent enough time around Valentino and Alastor in the same room was uncanny. Which Husk had. Multiple times.

The look directed at him made his stomach flip.

Flip, and then bring everything up that he’d eaten in the last 12 hours.

Alastor at least had the good grace in him to magic a bucket for Husk to hurl in, but Husk couldn’t stop the shame he felt when it vanished. The Radio Demon stood, shooting a glare and a curled smiled over his shoulder when the bartender asked for payment. The lesser demon skulked backwards as one of Al’s shadow puppets hoisted Husk up, throwing him over a shoulder. Husk’s ears flattened to his head. He was silent as Al snapped, spiriting them in a flurry of screams and light that drove a migraine right into Husker’s head with a fresh wave of nausea to his living room. Al’s shadow tossed him down on the couch without a note of care, disappearing behind Al as it always did. With a sneer. At Husker.

Husk really hoped that thing had a mind independent of Al’s. Because if Al sneered like that at him-

“Al?” Jesus Husker shut the fuck up-

Husk just noticed Al was about halfway out the door. The demon paused, turned, and gave him a quizzical look. Husker had curled up in a small ball. The click of dress shoes across the ramshackle floor and the crackle of radio let Husk know he was standing over him, head cocked.

“Why do you put up with my mess?” Husker you idiot. “You hate this shit.”

Alastor said nothing, but his static dulled down, which Husk knew, knew even drunk off his ass, that Al was hiding something. Husk peeled molten honey eyes up to Al to see the demon giving him an impossible look, one caught between a lie and a hard place.

Instead of answering, Al placed a hand between Husker’s ears and ran fingers through soft fur almost lovingly before gripping tightly and then quickly removing themselves when Husk hissed. Alastor blinked, noise resetting in his startled state, before backing away and shrugging.

“Why does anyone do anything, my dear?” Alastor chuckled, though it sounded  _ off _ . The pitch was higher. He was nervous. Al? Nervous?

… Husker was drunk. Too drunk. He had to be because he was ignoring the fact that Alastor willingly picked him up without his shadow to haul him to his bed, too drunk to acknowledge Al was tucking him in and placing a glass of cold water by his bedside, slammed off his ass too see Al adjusting his radio to a soft rock station, and much too hammered to see the way Al lingered at the door before leaving.

_ “It’s amazing how you can read a person,” Franklin whistled. “You’ve got an eye for detail, Husker.” _

_ They were standing over bodies of women who were supposed to be offering hospitality in their village. Women who were trying to kill them minutes ago. Women who were Viet Cong. Women who were fighting for their husbands or children that Husker had already probably killed _

Husker didn’t want to see that Alastor was fond of him. Husker didn’t want to see that Alastor quietly settled into a chair in the corner to make sure Husk didn’t choke on his vomit in his sleep, submitting himself to an evening of quiet observation and boredom. Boredom to keep him safe. Because Al  _ cared _ .

Even drunk, Husker saw that. Knew that.

Husker didn’t want to know that.

Husker didn’t want to consider that.

Because Husk wasn’t worthy of the same love that Eddie was.

**Author's Note:**

> ouchie. this is gonna have like maybe 2 more parts? one for al and then one for something else :o


End file.
